


Serenity

by Moorishflower



Series: Fifty AUs [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-04
Updated: 2011-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-23 22:36:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/255817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moorishflower/pseuds/Moorishflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day the Enochs landed was the day that Dean Winchester discovered he had a thing for wings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serenity

You get used to the eyes after a while, Dean muses. The odd, glowing blue eyes, and the occasional lapse into Enochian when the aliens are talking about something complex and they doesn’t necessarily have the right words for the concept…even the staring becomes commonplace, now that Dean is spending more time around the mothership. Having his brother as acting ambassador for the United States means that Dean – who has less interest in politics than he does in the ship’s engine bay – gets to spend as much time as he wants around the Enochs, so long as he doesn’t get in the way of Sam’s negotiations with their captain.

What you don’t get used to (or, at least, what Dean is having trouble with) are the wings. Enochs have _huge_ wings, wide and heavy-set, and though initial research into Enochian biology has revealed that many of their bones are honeycombed, like a bird’s, they still look like they could push a guy over if he’s not careful. The mothership is built with accommodation in mind, but Dean’s problem isn’t that he’s scared…it’s that he’s too interested.

“Fucking perv,” he mutters, chastising himself for something that he never could have known he wanted. He reaches out and lays a hand against the humming engine; it’s warm beneath his fingers, some combination of plasma and fission and God only knows what else keeping this baby going. His own ship – restored from scratch, but always a classic – doesn’t hold a candle to what the Zion is capable of, no matter how it pains him to admit it.

“You should not be here alone.”

Dean glances up, but the halting, rough voice is coming from a familiar face. Castiel is, as far as Dean has been able to guess, some sort of soldier working directly under the orders of Zachariah, the captain. All he’s done so far is shadow Sam on his tours around the Zion; this is the first time Dean has been alone with the guy. Or, well, what constitutes as a _guy_ for Enochs.

“Yeah, well.” Dean shrugs, but takes his hand off the engine. He shouldn’t have touched it in the first place, really. He knows how protective people can get over their vehicles, space-ready or not.

Castiel takes a step into the room, the dimness of the engine bay lighting up with the soft, bluish-white glow that emanates from Castiel’s precisely folded wings. Dean swallows, hard, and reminds himself that Castiel is a. an alien, and b. has been nothing but aloof and professional so far.

Castiel tilts his head, as if confused, and Dean frowns. “There a problem, angel?”

Castiel crouches down, huge wings rustling as he brings himself to Dean’s eye level. “Angel?”

Dean chuckles. “It’s a human thing. They’re a myth. Well, unless you’re religious. But they got wings, same as you.”

“I do not understand.”

“That’s okay.” Dean makes to push himself to his feet. “I’ll get out of your way. I’m sure you don’t want me pokin’ around all this delicate equipment.”

He’s halfway up on one knee when he feels Castiel’s hand fall upon his shoulder, urging him back down. “Please,” Castiel says, lips forming around the word with minor difficulty. “Stay. You need not leave.”

Slowly, Dean sinks back down, and Castiel imitates his movement, sitting cross-legged beside the humming engine. His wings and eyes are the brightest sources of light in the room, and Dean has to remind himself not to stare. Castiel, on the other hand, has no such qualms, and he stares openly at Dean’s hands, and then at his shoulders, and finally his face.

“Ambassador Sam Winchester is your brother,” Castiel says, and Dean nods. “Dean Winchester. He speaks often of you.”

“Nothing too awful, I hope.”

“He defends you as well. One day ago, a human soldier mentioned you in passing, and Sam Winchester scolded him fiercely.”

Interest piqued, Dean sits up a little straighter. While the idea of Sam defending him stings a little – he can fight his own battles, thanks – he’s still interested to hear what this soldier had to say about him. “What’d this soldier say that was so bad?”

“I believe it had to do with your interest in Enochian biology. Sam Winchester seemed very…what is the word? Flustered. I believe.”

Dean’s feeling a little flustered, too. He’s going to have words with his brother after this, not to mention his _fists_ are going to have words with some asshole soldier’s face. He clears his throat, and Castiel’s eerily glowing eyes zero in on him. Enochs don’t have pupils in precisely the same way as humans. Instead, they’ve got two circles of white inside of the intense blue of what Dean guesses is like their sclera, so it’s hard to tell when one of them is looking directly at you. Dean’s never had much of a problem, though.

“Yeah, well,” he says, and feels stupid for feeling uncomfortable. Castiel’s wings shift, a shiver of movement, and Dean feels himself twitch in response.

“Was it true?”

Dean blinks. “Excuse me?”

Castiel leans forward, bringing himself onto his knees. He slinks a little bit closer to Dean, the room filled with the hum of the engine and the weird, crackling ozone smell of the Enoch. As near as Dean can tell, the scent comes from their feathers. He swallows.

“Was what the soldier said true? Are you…interested in Enochian biology?”

“I, uh…”

Castiel’s wings shiver again, and then slowly extend; attached at two points along his spine, connected from shoulder to mid-back by a stretch of soft skin and muscle, they’re too large to be fully opened while within the confines of the comparably tiny engine room. There’s enough space for him to get them half open, though, a huge umbrella of blue-white light that folds over Dean like a blanket. They’re cocooned in a soft glow, and Castiel is smiling at him. It’s not a large smile, but it’s impossible to call it anything else.

“Because I have often found myself curious about human biology,” he murmurs, and he places one hand on Dean’s knee. As far as propositions go it’s pretty chaste, but Dean feels suddenly, and embarrassingly, hot.

“Oh fuck,” he says. It’s very obviously not a ‘no,’ and Castiel, perhaps hearing this, abruptly lunges forward and lands squarely – wings and all – in Dean’s lap. Dean has a fleeting final thought of _This is going to give a whole new meaning to intergalactic relations_ , and then his fingers are finally buried in light, and strange heat, and the engine room smells like a city after a thunderstorm has finally washed it clean.  



End file.
